


Blue Plate Special

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bondage, Double Penetration, Held Down, M/M, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Seriously,” Dallon says, hotly, to Spencer though he's got his eyes fixed on Brendon's.  “Don't you ever want to just tie him down and gag him?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Plate Special

Most the time, Dallon doesn't mind Brendon's endless energy. Sometimes he's sort of envious of the way Brendon can thrive on two hours of sleep, going for a morning jog whenever possible, prancing around the stage on a _broken fucking ankle_ during _sound check_ , not to mention what he gets up to during the actual show, then playing basketball with the venue crews after and bouncing around their bus til the asscrack of dawn.

Dallon sleeps in as late as he can into the afternoon, and even then he's always trying to squeeze in a nap or two whenever possible, between set up and sound check and meet and greets. Every night he ends up collapsing into his bunk while Brendon, Zack, and Spencer are still participating in an epic Halo marathon or whatever and Ian is on the phone in the lounge with his girlfriend.

The age difference is only six years, and Dallon's never been the sort to dread turning thirty or anything, but sometimes Brendon makes him feel ancient.

At the meet and greet that afternoon, Brendon was seated next to Dallon, leg jiggling up against Dallon's chair the entire time. During the show, Brendon made sure to give Spencer and Ian plenty of attention, but on the tiny stage, the placement of the keyboard and drum set were enough of an impediment that most of Brendon's time was spent focusing on Dallon.

Either of those things on their own wouldn't be too big of a deal. On a regular day, even the two together wouldn't bother Dallon so much. Except that Zack had dragged Dallon out of a really nice dream for that meet and greet, and he'd spent the entire time blinking sleep out of his eyes and swallowing back bile thanks to the shitty burritos they'd had for lunch at a local joint. Every tap of Brendon's foot made Dallon wanna just shove his heel really hard down on Brendon's foot, and if Brendon weren't already hurt, Dallon probably would have.

They leave directly after the show. Usually they'd spend the night in the lot, and head out in the morning, but they get a hotel tomorrow, and they were all up for exchanging a night on a moving bus for extra time in their hotel rooms. It's their first in over a week, with shows every night, and Dallon is so ready for a full night's sleep on a real, stationary bed, followed by a long, hot shower in the morning, he can taste it.

Dallon doesn't exactly mind sleeping on the bus. The bunks are more comfortable than a lot of places he's slept—the lumpy mattress on his trundle-bed until he was thirteen, for one, or the ridiculous narrow bed he'd been given on his Mission, which had been about six inches too short for him—but it's the movement that gets to him. He was plagued with motion sickness as a kid, and he's mostly gotten over that, but some of these highways are so shitty he can feel every dip and bump, and it's impossible to sleep for more than an hour at a time, at best. 

When he wakes in the morning, he feels like it'd have been better if he hadn't tried sleeping at all. They arrive at the hotel parking lot in the grey of early morning, and Zack goes in with Tony to take care of all the details. It feels like it takes a million years, and Dallon just sits on the couch with his bag over his shoulder, glowering at the rest of his band. He has to keep reminding himself of what's waiting to keep from snapping at Brendon, or, like, sitting on him to keep him still, or something.

Tony comes back with keys and Spencer grabs a one and Dallon's arm, dragging him off to the bank of elevators. Spencer and Dallon both like to sleep in, and Ian and Brendon both usually stay up late. Still, most of the time Spencer and Brendon share anyway, just because they're _Spencer and Brendon_. Apparently Spencer is willing to give up sex so that Dallon can get some sleep, without Dallon even having to say anything, and that is why Dallon is in this band. They are awesome people. Brendon's boundless energy aside. 

As soon as Dallon's through the door of their room, he kicks off his jeans and face-plants on the nearest bed, legs hanging off the end. It's sort of uncomfortable, but he really can't find it within himself to _care_. Spencer huffs and laugh and drags Dallon's legs up on the mattress properly. 

For a few minutes, Spencer shuffles around, changing his clothes, turning on the light in the bathroom. Dallon heard Brendon say something about checking out the local sights, and Dallon sort of feels bad about missing out, but he can make them go out with him again later. At a reasonable hour. 

Spencer comes back through and whispers a soft “be back later,” then flicks off the lights on his way out of the room.

Dallon presses his face into the pillow and falls asleep just like that.

*

Dallon wakes to what he can only assume is a full tactical assault taking place in the hallway right outside his door. He's ended up on his back and glances blearily at the clock on the bedside table. It tells him he's been sleeping for six hours, on top of the few hours he managed to steal on the bus, and that should totally content him. Would, except that he'd prefer to wake on his own, not to Brendon tumbling through the hotel door.

Brendon's in the middle of re-telling some story, talking a mile a minute, and his voice sounds louder than it probably is, to Dallon's half-awake brain. Behind him, Spencer has his indulgent smile on, nodding and closing the door behind them, toeing off his shoes and leaving them neatly lined up against the wall. Brendon just kicks his off and sprawls on the other bed, legs in the air, still talking, and Dallon wants to smother himself in his pillow. Or maybe just smother Brendon. 

There's a strange, almost painful spark in Dallon's gut, and he rolls onto his feet, giving Brendon a baleful look on his way to the bathroom. Five more minutes. They could have stayed gone _five more minutes_ and Dallon would have woken on his own 'cause he had to piss. He leaves the sink running after he washes his hands and splashes some water on his face, just staring at his reflection. The rushing sound sort of blocks out Brendon's voice a little.

The problem is, Dallon likes Brendon. _A lot_. Dallon's only had a few really close friends in his life who actually get him, and so he was surprised at how quickly and easily he clicked with Brendon and Spencer. Still, sometimes it would be nice if Brendon could just _stop_ for like, five minutes.

With a sigh, Dallon turns off the faucet and lets himself back into the room. Spencer's channel surfing with the volume down low only half paying attention to Brendon's new story. He's making these big, sweeping gestures with his arms, rocking back and forth from foot to foot as he talks. Spencer keeps darting glances at Brendon's ankle, like he's worried it's gonna give out.

“Brendon!” Dallon snaps, and he's sorta surprised at the tone of his own voice, no matter how annoyed he is. And yet, he can't seem to stop himself. “Just sit the hell down.”

It's one thing for Brendon to insist on doing their shows while injured, but it's a whole different kind of stupid for him to run around town on their _day off_ , and then bounce around the hotel room when there's a totally serviceable bed _right there_.

Brendon and Spencer are both staring at him—Brendon's eyes wide and startled, Spencer's expression unreadable—and Brendon immediately sets down on the corner of Dallon's mattress. 

“Seriously,” Dallon says, hotly, to Spencer though he's got his eyes fixed on Brendon's. “Don't you ever want to just tie him down and gag him?”

At his words, Brendon's eyes go even wider, teeth biting down on his bottom lip. He swallows loud enough that Dallon can hear it. Dallon has no idea what's going on—well, that's not true—he has an idea, and he doesn't know whether he wants to be wrong, or not. Either way, the words keep coming.

“You ever do that?” Dallon asks, finally cutting his eyes to Spencer.

Spencer's got his knees drawn up against his chest and he wraps his arms around them, leaning forward. “It's never come up before,” he says. He glances as Brendon and back to Dallon. “But I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind.”

“Spence,” Brendon starts to say, and Spencer gets to his feet, crossing the space between the beds in one long stride, coming to stand between Brendon's legs.

“Don't act like the idea isn't turning you on,” Spencer says. He looks down at Brendon's lap, and Dallon follows his gaze, then sorta wishes he hadn't. 

It isn't like he's never seen Brendon's dick, because, yeah, that's happened more times than he can be expected to remember. It's the bulge in his jeans that's something new. Dallon doesn't want to think about how it's, at least in part, because of him.

Brendon looks at Dallon from under his lashes, cheeks flushed, and okay. Brendon and Spencer are really attractive dudes, and while Dallon's never considered himself gay, he's not against the idea. Besides, with Brendon getting all up in Dallon's space every night, stealing kisses and groping Dallon's dick when he can get away with it, all while Spencer watches them with that sort of smug, knowing smirk. Well. Yeah, Dallon's thought about it.

He's thought about it in the way he's thought about super models, or Alyson Hannigan. Safe, because it could never be anything more than a harmless fantasy. There's nothing safe about the look Brendon's giving him, his hand twisting in the hem of his shirt like that's the only thing keeping him from rubbing his dick through his jeans.

A second later it kicks in, the fact that Spencer and Brendon are waiting on him. Dallon can laugh this whole thing off, they can watch some Venture Bros, and go out to dinner, and this can just be something they joke about later, and roll their eyes over.

Or...Dallon can get to his feet, feeling their eyes on him as he walks to his bag. He can dig through the mess of unfolded clothing, fishing out two of his ties. Ties Brendon's so fond of tugging on while on stage, working his fingers through, jerking loose. Yeah. Dallon swallows hard. Yeah, that sounds like the best plan.

Wrapping the ties around his fists, Dallon turns, giving a curious tug. They make a faint snapping sound and Brendon visibly flinches. Spencer reaches out, fingertips under Brendon's chin, and tilts his face up. Brendon hesitates before looking up at him. Their eyes meet, some silent communication passing between them.

“Take off your shirt,” Spencer says. 

Brendon complies at once, flinging the shirt aside. He looks at Dallon, like he's waiting for his next order, and Dallon realises that's his cue. “Get up against the headboard,” he says.

Earlier, Dallon didn't even notice it, but now he takes time to appreciate the fact that the slats are sort of ideal for tying someone up. Brendon draws himself up the length of the bed, resting against the pillows, even obligingly splaying his arms out to his sides, wrists pressed back to the wooden headboard.

A large part of Dallon still can't believe this is happening. He's waiting for Brendon to laugh and compliment Dallon on calling his bluff while Spencer claps him on the shoulder, or something. It just doesn't feel like it can really be happening. He feels like he's moving in slow-motion, getting a knee up on the bed and leaning over Brendon's torso.

Brendon's chest is flushed, his breath coming fast. Dallon doesn't really mean to, but his body is moving without his permission, straddling Brendon's waist. His shirt brushes the skin of Brendon's stomach as he leans forward, and Dallon brushes his fingers against Brendon's wrist. The skin there seems thinner, more delicate, and Brendon shivers when Dallon presses his nail in, dragging down the raised edge of bone. 

“Fuck,” Brendon hisses, hips jerking up. Dallon slides up higher, so Brendon doesn't have anything to rub against. He wraps one of the ties around Brendon's wrist, knotting tightly before threading the ends through the slats and tying it off. 

Brendon tugs experimentally and Dallon links their fingers together, pushing Brendon's hand back. “Don't try,” he says softly, and Brendon nods his agreement, hand going limp when Dallon lets go to tie his other wrist.

It shouldn't turn Dallon on this much, to see Brendon like this. He's never thought of himself as being into bondage, but the black of the tie against Brendon's skin is striking, and with his arms raised over his head, Brendon's collarbones and shoulders stand out in a way that makes Dallon's chest feel tight, makes his breath come short.

Brendon's just sitting there, silent and waiting, like Dallon can do whatever he wants. Except Dallon has no _idea_ where to go from here, and his mind his racing with the possibilities. He lets his hands trail down Brendon's arms, liking the way Brendon's muscles tense, not just in his arms, but in his stomach, thighs quivering.

Dallon's got all this spread out before him, and all he can think is _what now?_ He's achieved his initial goal, anyway. Except for the gagging bit, but Brendon's being surprisingly quiet, the only sound his laboured breathing. Dallon brushes his thumb over Brendon's bottom lip and Brendon swipes his tongue against the tip. And suddenly all Dallon can think about his how that would feel on his dick, and how Brendon would look with his mouth wrapped around it.

Spencer chuckles, and Dallon almost jumps. He almost forgot about Spencer, which is sort of a crime, because when Dallon looks over his shoulder, Spencer's got his shirt off and his pants open, and he's lazily rubbing himself through his boxers.

“It's the best way I've found to shut him up,” Spencer says, like he's reading Dallon's mind. Brendon makes an indignant sound, and Dallon leans forward without really thinking about it, replacing his thumb with his mouth. 

Dallon has always been a very considerate kisser. It's nice to let your lips get to know each other a bit before diving in, so to speak. But Brendon has this habit of surprise-attack kissing Dallon whenever he feels like it will enhance their show, so Dallon doesn't really feel all that bad about the way he's kissing Brendon now, rough and deep, with more teeth than he's ever used in his life, not that he can be blamed because _fuck_ Brendon's lips are full and soft and perfect for it.

Without letting himself think about it, or examine it, Dallon reaches down to fumble open the button on his boxers, drawing himself out. The head of his dick rubs against Brendon's chest, which sort of makes Dallon's brain short out. This is not a situation he ever imagined himself being in, in real life, and he doesn't know how to deal. 

Brendon breaks away from the kiss, panting, to look down between them, and lets out a low groan. “Dallon,” he says. His fingers curl uselessly in the air, and oh, Dallon's so fucked.

“You know,” Spencer says, in a conversational tone, and sits down at the head of the bed alongside Brendon. He draws a finger along Brendon's cheek and leans in for a brief kiss that makes Dallon's spine tingle to watch. “As outspoken as he can be, Brendon's sort of stupidly shy when it comes to asking for some things.”

“Oh?” Dallon asks absently. He can't make his brain come up with anything more complicated.

Spencer nods, and Dallon's sort of distracted by thinking about sucking on that pale, smooth neck. He's really going to have to reconsider his sexuality at some point in the near future, and he really should have seen that coming, with these two.

“We wouldn't just jump into bed with anyone who suggested it,” Spencer continues.

“Spencer,” Brendon murmurs, low and urgent. 

Spencer draws back a hand and gives him a soft smack to the cheek. “See,” he says. “He wants you to shut him up.”

“You mean,” Dallon says.

“Wow, I don't know how this is going to work if you're going to play as clueless as him,” Spencer says, but there's a playful look in his eyes. He flicks his hair back from his face. “He wants you to stick your dick in his mouth and fuck his throat. He hasn't shut up about it since that towel slip on the Blink tour.”

That. Is a very long time.

Brendon's eyes are narrowed in a way that suggests, were his hands not tied, Spencer would be very sorry for sharing that information. Dallon doesn't get it, because Brendon is absolutely shameless with the shit he says on stage. Maybe because that isn't real, and this. This really, really is. 

Dallon swallows again and scoots even further up Brendon's chest, leaving a smear of pre-come and says, “Is that what you want?”

There's a sort of rebellious look in Brendon's eyes, but when Dallon bucks his hips forward, Brendon's darts a look. His breath catches and he licks his lips, and that's sort of answer enough. Dallon shifts up onto his knees and Brendon opens his mouth, just like that, lets Dallon push his dick inside. He closes his lips tight and sucks Dallon in, eyes fluttering shut in an expression something like bliss. It's maybe the hottest thing Dallon's ever seen. 

Spencer threads a hand through Brendon's hair and gives a sharp tug. None of the girls who ever gone down on Dallon have liked it when Dallon messed with their hair, but Brendon moans around Dallon's dick like it's the best thing ever.

“He likes it rough, sometimes,” Spencer says and pulls again. 

The angle lets Dallon slide deeper and for a second he's worried Brendon's going to gag, or choke, and it's not going to be very sexy, but it feels so good he can't help himself. It doesn't matter, anyway, because Brendon takes it like a pro. Dallon's not exactly _small_ and now he's seriously curious as to what Spencer's packing in his underwear.

Brendon's sort of working magic with his mouth, the way his throat sort of closes around the head of Dallon's dick and his tongue pressing against the underside, and all the while this amazing _suction_ and Dallon didn't know anyone could do this shit, outside of porn stars.

Spencer's hand cups Brendon's jaw, and it's almost tender. “He's not gonna break,” Spencer says. “He can take a lot.”

And Dallon _knows_ that. Brendon hurts himself on a pretty regular basis, mostly in little ways, but then there's the fucking broken bones and torn ligaments, and just because Brendon can take the pain doesn't mean it should be inflicted on him. 

Except the way Brendon's lashes flutter against his cheeks, and the noises he makes, well, it all suggests that he's not in pain at all. Quite the contrary, and Dallon really wants to fuck that gorgeous mouth, so he stops thinking about it (because that's working pretty well for him so far), and just lets go, working his hips rough and desperate, driving in again and again, Brendon sucking him back each time.

Dallon can't be expected to last like this, and he hopes they're not going to judge him based on this, because that would just be supremely unfair. Especially when Spencer lifts his hips and pushes down his pants and boxers all at once. His thighs are soft looking and so white, and Dallon wants to bite them.

Spencer catches him looking and spreads his legs. He rubs his palm over his dick, strokes his balls, tilting his hips up so Dallon can see when Spencer brushes his fingers across his own hole. “Shit,” Dallon hisses, and fucks Brendon's mouth harder.

“Yeah?” Spencer asks. He sucks a finger in his mouth and returns it between his legs, pushing inside just to the first knuckle. One foot slides across the bedspread to nudge Dallon's leg. “You can, you know.”

“Shit,” Dallon says again. Any sort of rhythm he had is just gone now. He braces one hand on the headboard for balance and fucks Brendon's throat.

Spencer's laughter is low, and Dallon feels it roll down his spine. “Later, maybe,” Spencer says.

“Yes,” Dallon mumbles, in response to Spencer, or to the thing Brendon's doing with his tongue. Both. Whatever.

“But if you're not going to fuck me,” Spencer says, and trails off. He gets off the bed and Dallon hears him fishing around in one of their bags. The mattress dips under his weight when he returns, and Dallon tries to look over his shoulder. But as much as he'd like to watch what he's pretty sure is about to happen behind him, there's _Brendon's mouth_.

The noises, those are nice, though. Paint some lovely pictures in Dallon's mind. The drag of Brendon's zipper being undone and Spencer working the fabric down his legs. The snick of the lube cap opening, the sound it makes when Spencer squeezes, the whimper Brendon lets out, and Dallon thinks Spencer must be fingering him. 

There's a smack of a flesh on flesh, hard enough that it has to sting, and Spencer rumbles, “ _Up_ , Brendon,” with another slap. Dallon remembers what Spencer said about Brendon liking it rough, and wonders if Brendon was purposefully not responding so that Spencer would hit him harder. Maybe there will be a red hand mark for Dallon to see, later. 

Brendon shifts, angling under Dallon. He draws his legs up, his knees and the tops of his thighs tucking up against Dallon's hips. There is not the sound of a condom being opened, no rustle of plastic, and fuck, that makes it worse. Dallon wants to _see_ it. 

There's a moment of tense silent while Dallon waits, then Spencer lets out a long, low groan, and Brendon's body arches under Dallon. Brendon's slobbering all over Dallon's dick and himself, and it shouldn't be so hot, but Dallon can feel his balls drawing tight and close to his body, heat pooling in his gut. 

Spencer's hand draws down Dallon's spine, thumbing the notches, dipping in the dimple above Dallon's ass. He teases at the hem of Dallon's shirt and Dallon lifts his arms to let Spencer draw it off. One hand flutters over Dallon's ribs, fingers light, the other curl roughly in the skin at Dallon's hip and Dallon feels hot breath on his shoulder.

Beneath them both, Brendon's writhing and making these soft, desperate sounds around Dallon's dick. It's like something out of a porno, Brendon getting fucked in his mouth and ass at the same time, and _loving_ it. Dallon sort of distantly wonders if he can talk them into doing this again sometime in front of a mirror, or something. A camera is probably out of the question, all things considered.

“You can come in his mouth,” Spencer says, right in Dallon's ear, followed by a sharp nip to his earlobe. His beard scrapes the sensitive skin of Dallon's throat—he's fucking nuzzling Dallon, dragging his chin down Dallon's shoulder blade and pressing his face in there, and why is every ridiculous thing these two do so incredibly hot to him? “He wants it.”

Dallon presses his fingers to Brendon's cheek and Brendon's eyes flutter open. They're watering, and Dallon doesn't know if that's because of him or because of Spencer smacking him, but before he can worry if it's too much, Brendon moans again.

“Is that okay?” Dallon asks.

Brendon can't exactly answer, but he heaves a put-upon sigh as if to question why the men fucking him are so incredibly stupid, and okay, whatever. It's not like Dallon has a problem with the idea of coming in Brendon's mouth. 

He works his hips harder, and he's so fucking close, he can taste it. Spencer bites down on Dallon's shoulder, flicks his fingers against Brendon's lips, right were Dallon's dick is disappearing inside. Spencer grunts, the force of his thrust driving Brendon back harder against the headboard, and Dallon can almost see it. He doesn't know which name to say when he comes, so he settles for just moaning as he shakes his way through it.

Mostly Dallon just wants to collapse and pass out, but having to explain to Zack how Brendon choked to death on Dallon's dick is just way too much trouble, and Dallon would be sad anyway. He manages to get his body to cooperate long enough to edge back, watching as Brendon swallows, and darts out his tongue to lick at his swollen lips. Dallon flops down on his back beside Brendon, and it's a much better view.

Without Dallon between them, Brendon's body automatically curls towards Spencer, like he wants to pull him closer, before he remembers his restraints. Spencer gives Brendon a teasing smirk followed with a sharp thrust of his hips. Brendon plants his feet on the mattress and pushes back, spine arching off the bed.

Dallon doesn't know what possesses him, except he's come this far, and is there any point in stopping now? He crawls down the bed and grabs Brendon's ankle, above where it's bruised, and tugs his leg out straight. 

“You're _supposed_ to be holding still,” he says, and does the same with the other leg, drawing them together and pressing down. 

Spencer makes an appreciative noise and Dallon looks up, likes the way Spencer's ass clenches when he drives into Brendon. Brendon pulls at Dallon's hold, managing to get his legs a few inches further apart, rising off the bed, before Dallon puts all his weight into it, pushing Brendon's calves flat.

Brendon makes this high-pitched whining noise, desperate and hot, and then he's coming all over himself, without Spencer even touching his dick. At the sight, Dallon feels his dick stirring again and that hasn't happened so quickly in about half a decade, holy shit. 

Brendon's legs are trembling under Dallon's hold and he whimpers Spencer's name, says, “Please, come on.” His ankle twists in Dallon's hand, a restless movement, and Dallon just forces Brendon's legs closer together.

Spencer's movements turn jerky and he buries himself deep, face pressed against Brendon's throat as he comes, hips working right to the end, fucking into Brendon over and over until Spencer's arms give out.

Dallon's skin feels too tight and he's burning hot even with the a/c on his mostly bare skin. Spencer rolls off Brendon and they both groan. Dallon can't tear his eyes away from where Spencer's come is dripping out of Brendon's ass, and okay, he's never even thought of it as the remotest possibility before, but now he's staring and wondering what it would be like to lean in and taste it. He doesn't, but the fact that he's even considering it has his head spinning.

When Dallon manages to look up at them, Spencer has this look on his face, like he knows exactly what Dallon's thinking and is supremely amused by it. Dallon's very aware of the way his dick is still hanging out of his boxer's, half-hard and wonders what happens next.

Spencer jerks his head in a _come here_ gesture, and Dallon can't think of any reason not to. He lets go of Brendon's legs to fall on the opposite side of Brendon's body from Spencer. Brendon looks up at him with a lazy, sated expression—not a quite a smile. His lips are still bright red and puffy, and Dallon traces them with his fingertip. That draws a real smile.

Dallon looks across to Spencer, who's watching them with that unreadable expression from before. Dallon can do unreadable, too, and when he schools his features, Spencer lets out a little huff of laughter and reaches out to sink a hand in Dallon's hair, pulls him in close. Dallon braces his hand on Brendon's ribs and meets halfway, lips just brushing Spencer's at first.

Beneath Dallon's hand is the gentle rise and fall of Brendon's chest, and it feels like Spencer's mimicking the sensation with the way he kisses—soft, delicate swipes of his tongue, searching but not really invading, content to be slow about it. Dallon lets himself get lost in the exploration of it, the give and take when he pushes into Spencer's mouth and when Spencer pushes back.

It seems like it must be hours later when Brendon lets out out a melodramatic sigh and says, “Okay, but seriously, you guys can untie me now.”

Spencer smiles against Dallon's mouth. “I think I've got one of my ties in my overnight bag, if you wanna gag him,” he says.

Brendon makes an indignant noise, but Dallon just hums thoughtfully. He's still only just starting to get it up again, but with a little coaxing, it wouldn't take long to get him ready to go. He thinks about fucking Spencer right here and Brendon only being able to watch while the two of them do whatever they want. And yeah, his dick is definitely on board with that plan. 

Spencer does that mind-reading thing again, and nods his head, hopping off the bed to go to his bag. Brendon gives Dallon a baleful look. “You're an asshole,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dallon says. He smiles as he lays his hand over the red mark left on Brendon's hip from where Spencer slapped him, fitting his hand in place. “I think you like it,” he says and smacks lightly, just enough to remind Brendon, to make him jump.

Brendon doesn't get a chance to respond before Spencer's back with his tie, but the way he obligingly opens his mouth is sort of answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I blame okubyo_kitsune for this one. It was meant to be just one kink, but ended up being a postage stamp and it's ALL HER FAULT for encouraging me D: JSYK, this takes place in a reality adjacent au which is pretty much exactly like rl except Dallon's not married. It isn't that I have a problem with Breezy (seriously might be my favourite bandwife), and I plan on writing fics with her in them, but I just didn't want that particular complication for this fic.


End file.
